#my job is kicking my ass and i have to prep for exams on top of doing 12 hr shifts and im not eating well and my brain is being a jerk...

[ravensmadreads]

BESTIES!

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[emeraldwaves]

Title:  Undercover Emotions Chapter 1 Pairing:  Promptio, Highspecs Rating: E Word Count:  4,127 Read on Ao3 Summary: Rookie cop Prompto Argentum gets sent undercover with veteran Aranea Highwind in hopes of taking down the Caelums, longtime leaders of organized crime in Insomnia. After being assigned to assist Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignis Scientia, the pair dive deeper into the criminal underworld and find themselves caught up in a variety of shady dealings. However, when Prompto starts to learn who Gladiolus really is, his loyalties begin to shift in a direction he never expected.

Full fic under the cut! thanks to @its-love-u-asshole for betaing this!

"Argentum!" Captain Cor Leonis' voice echoed through the entire precinct's office, and Prompto practically fell out of his chair, wincing at the sound pounding against his ear drums.

"Uh oh shortcake, looks like you're in trouble. Again." Aranea Highwind giggled devilishly into her palm.

"Wonder what y'all did this time," Cindy Aurum snorted. "You’re always making Cor angry, hun."

"You know, maybe this time he's not angry! Maybe he's calling me into the office to praise me for doing such a great job on my last case," he smirked, looking rather proud of himself.

"ARGENTUM! MY OFFICE. NOW." Cor's deep voice repeated, showing no signs of happiness or pride. Prompto winced again, and shrunk his head towards his shoulder, making him look like a turtle trying to hide in its very tiny shell.

"Oh. Yeah. That definitely sounds like praise!" Aranea snorted. "Good luck, kid." She winked as he walked by her desk and made his way slowly to the Captain's office.

Cor was a good Captain, if not a little standoffish, but Prompto liked to think the man had a soft spot for him… when he wasn't yelling at him for a whole variety of things. Prompto was the newest member of Cor's team, and needless to say, he was still working out some of the odds and ends that went along with officially being a detective. This also meant there had been quite a few screw ups on Prompto's personal record.

"Cap'n Cor!" Prompto greeted, shooting a few finger guns at the serious looking man. "What's happenin'?!" he chuckled.

Cor, however, didn't laugh once. "Sit down and shut the door."

"Eheh… yes, sir," Prompto sighed, his shoulder's slouching as he flopped down into a chair directly opposite of Cor.

The man sighed, keeping his arms folded. "What the hell is this?" he asked, dropping a folder further up his desk so it was directly in front of Prompto.

Adjusting his glasses, Prompto peered forward, leaning over. "A… case file, sir?" he questioned. He knew it was probably a case file that didn't look good for him, but he didn't wanna bring that up if the Captain was going to focus on something else.

"This is the 5th one this month that has come across my desk documenting accidents from Officer Prompto Argentum. This one says you ruined not one, but two police cars? Care to explain how that happened?" Cor asked.

"I think you're missing the big picture here, Captain," Prompto began to explain, adjusting the glasses on his face.

Cor's face stayed deadpan.

"It's not about the cars, it's about the result!" he smiled, opening the file to point to the bottom. "See? ‘Culprit apprehended’!" he smirked, trying to keep what little pride he had left.

"Yes. But you've cost hundreds of dollars in police property damage and this isn't the first time this month! On top of that, you've almost let three felons escape, blown you and Cindy's cover accidentally, and there was the time you left your gun out carelessly on your desk. You're a newbie cop, and this isn't boding well for your personal record."

"I get that… but I'm also getting the baddies!"

Cor rubbed his forehead as he leaned back in the chair. "Yes, but it would be nice if you could handle yourself with a bit more poise. You have potential, Argentum. But I can't keep telling the heads of the department my newbie cop is screwing things up again."

"So… tell them Aranea did it!" he laughed, and Cor stared at him blankly, his face creepily stoic. "Okay, okay it was just a joke..." he mumbled.

Cor leaned forward and folded his hands together. "You're a good cop, Argentum. There's a reason I picked you for my team."

"Eh? You picked me?" he said, pointing to himself, and Cor sighed, as though he'd revealed information he would definitely regret later.

"Anyway, I want to send you on a higher profile case." Prompto's eyes immediately lit up. Here he thought he was going to be in trouble, maybe even kicked off the team, but instead Cor wanted to give him a higher profile case? Oh, he was definitely on board with this!

"I believe you'd be a good fit for this case, if you can keep yourself under control. It would be a good chance to prove yourself. I am setting you up to work with Highwind on this case, as it really requires two people. I trust her to keep you in check, but there will be moments when you are alone. I hope you won't make any mistakes on this one. If you do, you will be suspended from the team."

"Eh?! What?! Suspended!?" Prompto exclaimed, as though those were the only words he had heard.

"You heard me," Cor said.

"But you said I was a good cop!" Prompto whined, leaning back in his seat.

"You are. But you're not worth the amount of money you're costing the department. On top of that," Cor said, leaning forward once more. "Blowing your cover on this one… I say you'd be suspended, but if you’re found out, you'll be lucky to leave with your life."

Prompto blinked. "What?" What could be so intense he would possibly not be able to leave with his life? The notion was admittedly terrifying, but Prompto would've been lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bit intrigued.

He'd become a cop to protect people, to protect the innocent and save lives. He knew what it was like to be weak, to feel tiny among people who didn't care for others and wanted nothing more than to knock people around. He never wanted to go back to that place again, and he never wanted anyone else to experience the horrors he had as a child, so he'd trained hard and worked to pass the police exam for years.

When Cor had picked him for his team, Prompto had been beyond honored, knowing the man was practically a living legend in the police world. The Captain had more arrests than anyone else in the Insomnia Police Department. Cor had apparently seen something in Prompto, still did, and Prompto really didn't want to let him down this time.

It wasn't like Prompto meant to screw up. Sometimes it just happened!

"I was going to wait and discuss this with you both after tomorrow's morning debriefing but now seems like as good a time as any." He stood up, swinging the door open to call Aranea in. "Highwind, you get in here too," he said, returning to his seat.

It took Aranea no time to walk from her desk to Cor's office, and she sighed, looking down at Prompto. "What did I do that could possibly be on par with him?"

"Hey!" Prompto muttered.

"Nothing. Please, take a seat. I have a case I need to discuss with you. If the two of you accept, you'll be partnered on this one," Cor explained, turning around in his chair to pull a large binder from the file cabinet behind him.

"You want me to work with this dingus?" Aranea asked, gently knocking Prompto upside the head as she walked by to sit next to him. She winked, grinning as she took her seat.

Prompto liked Aranea. She was a hard ass, but of all the veterans, she was the nicest to him, even if her compliments were sort of...strangely backhanded.

"Yes. And this mission will be long term," he explained. Prompto had never worked on a long term case before, and working with Aranea would surely be helpful, as she was one of the ones with the most experience in their precinct.

"Long term?" Aranea raised an eyebrow. "Been awhile," she chuckled, crossing one leg over the other. "How long we talkin'?"

Cor thumbed at the binder in front of him, and opened it up to a page in the middle. "I take it you both are well aware of the mafia problem we've faced over the past many decades. For a long time it was 'overlooked'," Cor scoffed. "Many older officers felt there was nothing to be done about getting rid of organized, high crime, but I have different plans.

"We've had informants in the field for years," he explained. "People who are working for both sides. We have a strict agreement. I don't arrest them, they report back any findings to me.

"I recently received a tip from one of them. It seems the younger males in the next generation have finally begun their training to become the next heads of the family. From what I hear, Regis Lucis Caelum has not been doing well," Cor explained, tapping on the picture in the binder in front of him.

"As both of you are probably aware, the Caelum family has been the head of organized crime for quite sometime now, and just below him are the Amicitias and the Scientias, the three main heads working together. From what I hear, Regis is soon to be on the outs, and his son, Noctis, is prepping to take over," Cor continued. "I believe, if we can get Noctis and the other younger members of the group, we can cut them off at the head…" he said.

Aranea nodded. "Makes sense. Get the main leader and they'll all go down eventually. So what ya’ want us to do?"

"Undercover mission," Cor said, placing two files on the desk in front of them. "My informant tells me Gladiolus Amicitia and Ignis Scientia are in need of two new assistants. Apparently Gladiolus goes through them like water, and Ignis dismissed his last one for being far too incompetent. Aranea, you'll be Ignis' assistant and Prompto you will be Gladiolus'. Apparently Gladiolus isn't allowed to request women anymore," Cor snorted.

"Wonder why," Aranea grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"So does this mean we're going to go work for the mafia?" Prompto asked, glancing between his two older coworkers.

"Indeed," Cor said. "The goal is to get close to both of them so they will eventually lead you to Noctis. Once you have Noctis' location, we can set up a break-in and we'll be sure to get him, and hopefully Gladiolus and Ignis as well. I don't want to get greedy though, so if we can only get Noctis, so be it.

"Prompto," Cor continued. "You're new to this sort of thing, but Aranea will be very helpful in debriefing. If the two of you can find a safe place, you can discuss the case, but don't unless you are absolutely certain the area is secure. Aranea will send all information back to me, let her handle communication.

"On top of this, you may have to do some...less than legal activities. I know you joined the police force to stop crime, not commit it, however, we consider this to be a... special circumstance."

"How fun," Aranea purred, her lips quirking into a smile. Prompto had a feeling she would enjoy this far more than he would.

Cor sighed, pushing the folders towards them. "Anyhow, take these folders and get yourself briefed on the case. We've set up apartments for you closer to the general whereabouts. So get packed and say goodbye to any personal friends and family members as you will not have contact with them for quite some time."

"Got it, won't take very long," Aranea said, picking up her folder as she stood up. "See ya' 'round, Cor." She waved her hand once as she exited his office, presumably heading to pack.

"Well?" Cor raised his eyebrow.

Prompto gripped the folder in his hand. Cor trusted him with such a high stakes mission? He was flattered, excited, terrified... the mix of emotions throbbed in his fingertips against the folder.

Jumping up, he clutched it to his chest, saluting. "I won't let you down, sir!" he said excitedly. "I am so ready for this!"

As nervous as he felt, he'd been waiting for a case like this since he joined the force! The whole reason he had become a cop was to keep the people safe, and what better way to do so than by stopping high-profile criminals who hurt people on the daily.

Cor opened his mouth, as if to argue that he wasn't so sure but he closed it. "Kid," he said, folding his hands over his lap. "Be careful, alright?"

"You got it," Prompto winked, giving him a thumbs up, heading out the office door.

Cor called after him before the door could shut. "And don't do anything stupid!"

~~

Gladiolus Amicitia looked around the cafe and immediately pulled out a cigarette. Ignis Scientia was never late to anything; not meetings, not appointments, and not even for spending time with his oldest and dearest friend. Admittedly 15 minutes wasn't all that late, but this was Ignis! So naturally, Gladio was a little stressed.

He lit the cigarette, holding it close to his lips as he pulled in a long drag, puffing the smoke out into the air. He rolled his fingers against the table, shaking his leg up and down.

He pulled out his pocket watch from his jacket. Where the hell was he?

He took another long drag on his cigarette, the possibilities of Ignis' whereabouts began to race through his mind. The problem was, there were so many potential scenarios of what could've happened to his best friend, and none of them were casual. All involved pain of some sort, injuries... death...

No. Gladio shook his head. Iggy wasn't that stupid. He wouldn't go and get himself killed before they were supposed to have lunch.

"Ah, Gladio, my apologies," Ignis' smooth tone cut through the cacophony of the streets and Gladio's own thoughts. His amber eyes immediately shot up to meet Ignis' jade hues. A smile pulled across his handsome features, and Gladio immediately rolled his eyes.

"Took ya' long enough," he growled, slamming his cigarette down on the ashtray to snuff it out.

"Were you concerned?" Ignis asked, pulling the chair out. He took a seat, leaning his elbows on the table as he smirked.

"Concerned my ass!" Gladio snorted. "You're never fuckin' late, so I was starting to get insulted." Ignis was safe, there was no need to let him know he'd been worried.

"Of course. Well, I did apologize," he chuckled, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He thumbed through the menu, completely ignoring Gladio's huffy behavior.

"Yeah, yeah. Where the hell were ya'?" Gladio asked, watching as Ignis scanned the menu. Gladio didn't know why he was looking so hard. Ignis had been the one to choose this particular cafe. It was on the other side of town, on the edge of their territory, dangerously close to Izunia's neck of the woods. (Far too close, in Gladio's opinion.) However, Ignis had insisted, since this cafe was one of the only ones in the city which carried the brand of coffee he preferred. Gladio usually let Ignis choose the restaurants though, he was far more picky about his food than Gladio would ever be.

Ignis paused, his finger tracing down the edge of the menu. He pursed his lips as he turned his gaze towards his best friend. "It seems things have gotten worse with my uncle. I had to stop by the hospital."

"Damn Iggy, I wish I'd known, I woulda gone with you."

"I... know you would've. I almost stopped by here first, but I thought it best to go and handle things on my own first. I wasn't sure what condition he would be in," Ignis sighed.

The waitress arrived at the table, taking their order, and, as cute as she was, Gladio was thankful when she left them in peace.

"What happened?" Gladio asked once she left. He was tempted to pull out another cigarette, but refrained from doing so; Ignis didn't enjoy smoking while he had his coffee.

"He collapsed in his office," Ignis muttered. "The doctors aren't sure what happened. He was sleeping when I went to sign paperwork."

"Hm. Overworking himself again," Gladio chuckled. "Just like someone else I know."

"Gladiolus please," Ignis sighed. "I am not overworking myself. Besides, I brought the paperwork for the potential assistant candidates I found."

"Really?" Gladio smirked, raising his eyebrow. "So you're not overworking yourself and yet you brought work to our casual meetup!" he teased.

Ignis grunted, thanking the waitress when she put their drinks down. He picked up the cup, blowing over the heated surface. "Getting an assistant will stop me from overworking myself. Meanwhile, your assistant will actually help you get work done," he smirked back.

"Har-har, Iggy," Gladio said. "So I assume you'll be taking over for your Uncle for his gala duties?"

"Yes. Which is why it is imperative I find a new assistant immediately," he nodded. "We don't have much time before the Winter Gala, and seeing as Regis is letting Noctis handle it almost entirely on his own… well, he’ll need all the help he can get," Ignis spewed out the information quickly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Iggy, calm down. We'll get it figured out."

"If Noctis and I take over for Regis and my Uncle respectively, we can begin to start putting our plans in motion. We could begin with the Winter Gala-"

"Forget it. There's no way my father will go for that shit," Gladio said, waving his hand back and forth quickly. "Look Iggy, I know you're eager, but we gotta be patient, okay?"

Ignis sighed, leaning back in his chair. He slipped his hands under his frames, pushing his glasses up. "I know. But taking over for my uncle includes... many things," Ignis muttered, flicking his gaze to the side. "You are... aware of this, Gladio?"

"'Course I am," he snorted.

"Then you understand why I am so eager to push things in our direction," Ignis hissed softly.

"Yeah, but one thing at a time Iggy," Gladio muttered, his own voice hushed.

Sighing, Ignis leaned forward, taking a large gulp of his coffee. "You're right, you're right." His tone sounded resigned, and Gladio felt a pang of guilt. Ignis was always tightly-wound, but right now he seemed far more stressed than usual. "One thing at a time."

Leaning over, he pulled a few files from his briefcase. He placed them on the small table in front of Gladio before smoothing out his gray suit jacket. "Here we are. The candidates." He passed one of the folders to Gladio. "I went ahead and selected my two favorites for us. This man, Prom Argent, is for you and this woman Nea Biggs is for me."

"Now hold on a second!" Gladio snarled, yanking the folder from Ignis' hands. "How come you get the woman!?"

Ignis rolled his eyes. "We discussed this, Gladio. The last three women assistants you had quit after you ‘broke their hearts’. I assume you won't be sleeping with this man," he said.

Gladio flipped the folder open, showing a resume and a small picture of a small blond boy with flat hair and glasses. "So you're giving me this kid? Who the fuck is this nerd?"

Ignis couldn't help but laugh. "Oh come on Gladio, give the 'kid' a chance," Ignis teased. "He's quite qualified if you read over his resume."

"Hang on, lemme see your chick," he said, lunging forward to grab the folder in front of Ignis.

"Gladio-"

He flipped it open and stared at the picture of the gray haired woman for a moment. "What the hell, Ignis! She's a babe!" he said, turning the picture around to shove it in his face.

"Yes, she is a very fine looking lady," Ignis muttered, snatching the picture from Gladio's hand. "But more importantly she's qualified. Her sources checked out as well, and I hear she's quite efficient," Ignis said.

"Good for her," Gladio mumbled.

"So since you're done griping..."

He wasn't, but he let Ignis speak anyway.

"And you're obviously completely fine with the match up."

He wasn't, but apparently it was useless to argue.

"They start tomorrow, so please prepare tasks for Prom to do," Ignis said.

"Tomorrow?! Oh I'll prepare all right," he grumbled, opening the folder once more to look at the scrawny blond.

"I know you're not pleased, but based on his credentials I think he'll be good for you. And Ms. Biggs is going to be just what I need to keep my workload from being far too overwhelming."

Gladio sighed. Ignis was an intelligent man, and if he thought this was best, it most likely was. "Alright Iggy, I'll give the kid one chance."

"Good," Ignis smiled, sipping the last of his coffee. "It will go smoothly, I'm sure."

Gladio growled, folding his arms. "One chance. If he screws up, he's gone."

~~

The suitcase on his bed was open, but not even remotely organized. "Shit, shit, shit! Where did I put those pinstripe pants!?" Prompto whined, tossing everything out of his closet. Cor had made it very clear he wasn't allowed to come back to his apartment, under any circumstances. He had to be sure he had everything.

Actually looking at his suitcase now, Prompto wasn't sure it was going to be large enough. "I should've bought two," he sighed.

Thumbing through the file he'd been given, he stared at the picture of Gladiolus Amicitia, the man he would be working for. He certainly looked like someone involved in the mafia! He had a scar down his left eye, and his wild brown hair was slicked back tight against his forehead. From what he could see in the picture, his shoulders were broad, and Prompto couldn't tell if he hadn't shaved in this picture, or if he purposefully left the hair on his chin and jaw like that. "What a scary lookin' fella..." Prompto muttered.

Slapping his cheeks, he shook his head and closed the folder back up. He wasn't scared! Hell no, this was the case he'd been waiting for; the case he dreamed about during training at the academy!

He glanced at the telephone on his bedside table. Should he call his parents? He didn't talk to them often. They were constantly traveling for work, and if not for work, then for pleasure. They never seemed to worry about Prompto, or the fact his job could often put him in life threatening situations. No, they were simply proud of him, and did their own thing.

His best friends were Cindy and Aranea... and he'd already said a tearful goodbye to Cindy when he left the station. Well, tearful on his side of things. She'd pat his back and wished him luck, warning him she'd kill him if he died.

No phone calls were really necessary.

Digging through his closet he grabbed a few more outfits. Everything he owned was far too... straight-edge. He knew these men usually dressed classy, but it was a completely different look from his own casual wear. The last thing he wanted was for his clothes to give him away. He couldn't risk showing any hints he might be a cop.

He twisted his lips and flopped down on the bed, looking at the mess of clothes. Adjusting his glasses, he puffed out his cheeks. Aranea was probably all packed. Hell, she'd probably been packed from the second she got home. From the way she left the office, Prompto wondered if she'd packed with the snap of her finger.

She hadn't looked nervous at all back at the station when Cor had de-briefed them on what they would be doing. (Not that Prompto was nervous, oh no, of course not.) Then again, she'd gone undercover plenty of times before. Still, Prompto was sure none of them had been as important as something like this. Maybe he could ask her about past cases later.

Blowing out a long huff of air, Prompto began to organize the clothes he'd thrown into his suitcase. He wanted to at least try and get some sleep tonight. With the insane mix of emotions mashed-up around inside of him, he wasn't sure if he would actually be able to. Being tired for his first day seemed like a horrible idea. The more tired he was, the higher the chances were he might flub and reveal their true identities-

No. He had promised Cor… no more screw ups! No, this was his first real undercover case, and there was no way he was going to fuck it up.

[volleys-chan]

Of Gilded Hearts and Empty Cages

So I like thinking about the character that will eventually come into play for No Gilded Cage to Hold Ye and I really like developing them. They pop up in my other stories often, so I figured why not let the few people who enjoy reading about OC Heart Pirates read about the ones that I designed for his crew. I have put years into this but I always get writers block when it comes to writing it all in a properly written story. So, as I try to progress in NGCtHY, I will also be writing one shots of various characters that may find its way into the actual story or may just forever be a one-shot of the plot.

So, first, Aurelia. She’s been in my head for a while, so I would like to introduce her with this little featurette. To those who have never read my main story, no, there is very limited, if any, romance in it. Aurelia will eventually find the love of her life, but its not Law. And she even surprised me, to be honest, with who she chose. I tend to create them, but as their character develops, they sorta become their own person in my head and she chose a very unique relationship.

Anyways, that might show up later. For now, enjoy Val Oliola Aurelia.

Title: Aurelia the Nurturing Lionheart Characters: Trafalgar Law and a shit ton of OCs from No Gilded Cage to Hold Ye Genre: Humor/ Nakamaship/ Friendship Rating: T Word Count: 3,832 Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or the characters, they belong to Eiichiro Oda. Also, this is some nonsense my brain cooks up.

She noticed that he had begun to limp a day or two ago. He would silently grimace at times he thought no one was looking, but, with him being her captain and lead doctor on the sub, she watched out for him more than the others. Leon didn’t always seem to catch him going untreated, after all, seeing as the man was almost always prepping for meals or serving them when they weren’t on shore leave, and even then, Law hid what he could.

It was his leg that were troubling him, that much she could figure out. So, of course, being the loyal member of the crew that she, she went to Leon about it shortly after Law had disappeared after dinner. All that was left was for Leon to do was keep swing shift dinner warm and clean up- things Basil could do easily.

Leon easily gave her the attention she was hoping for as she approached the serving counter. Leon’s eyes already looking at her with intrigue. It wasn’t like her to linger after dinner with all she had to get done before tomorrow unless she was interested in picking his brain.

“I um…” She felt silly for getting nervous, but at the same time, she was basically tattling on their captain. It was pretty close to mutiny, wasn’t it?

“Miss Aurelia, are you alright?” He was already discarding his apron and making ready to leave the kitchen.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was weak and she played a bit with her finger. “But can I talk to you about Captain?”

Leon blinked a moment before looking at Basil and giving him reign over the kitchen. Tossing his apron on the counter, he quickly made his way through the door leading form the kitchen to the cafeteria and motioning Aurelia to follow as he started to make his way out and to where Law no doubt was. She felt like she did a remarkable job keeping up with his longer, faster gait.

“What about Law?” Leon was never one to beat around the bush when it came to his surrogate younger brother.

“He’s been… limping a bit. Not so much in the morning, but he seems in a great deal of pain after his sessions. A-and I know he hasn’t been sparring as of late either- no mends for me to do to his workout clothes as of lately-, so I don’t think its the regular soreness we all get after sessions.” Even when she felt like she had been hit with a runaway carriage after her first training session with Akiko did she ever really limp like Captain.

Leon looked down at her with a impressed look. “Good observations. Now, help me get his ass on an exam table so I can take a look at him. It’s been long overdue for me to give him a once over anyways. He would rather suffer silently with a quick fix than actually properly treat himself. Typical damn doctor mentality.”

Aurelia didn’t mean to look so timid, but she was still quite new to the crew and wasn’t sure how over the line she had already gone in Captain’s books. “O-okay.” She could add one more thing to the list before he probably kicked her out.

“Miss Aurelia.” Leon paused his gait and she nearly blew right past him as a result. His eyes were gentle as gentle as his voice. He placed a hand on the top of her head. Why were all the kind men in this submarine so damn tall? She felt like a child with the way his hand endearingly rubbed the top of her head. But at the same time. It felt so comforting. To know that he meant it all in kindness and meant nothing lewd or demeaning with his actions.

“Law isn’t going to kick you out or do anything bad to you for this. He knows better than to do this to himself and, to an extension, his crew. I want you to know that he cares for all of us in his own way, even if he gets grumpy or is short with his words. He’s not going to punish you at all for telling me. You’re a part of our family now and that means your are stuck with us, okay, Little Lionheart?”

She used her sleeve to rub away the tears that came unbidden from her eyes. She wasn’t use to such kindness; such comforts. Even though everyone was always so nice, she still felt deeply touched by how gently they handled her spirit. Training sessions were brutal, but outside that, no one dared to touch her in any way that wasn’t needed gentle reassurance or without her verbal consent.

“Feeling better about all this now?” She could see why Law left Leon in charge of the whole ‘feelings’ thing. He was so good at it. He was caring and nurturing and philanthropic. She could see why the men teased him and called him Mama Bird. It was because he took such good care of all of them in anyway he could. She wanted to be just like that. She wanted to take care of the crew too.

“Alright. This sounds like either a leg problem or a foot problem, so I’m probably going to have to strip him down a bit. I don’t know how far that will be out of your comfort zone. He should be wearing undergarments, but with Law….”

“Please recall that I do the laundry now. I have seen plenty of the mechanics and Akiko’s squad half naked due to the fact that they sometimes want the very clothes they are occupying cleaned.” Even Akiko would saunter out of the room in nothing but her undergarments sometimes.

Leon let out a long suffering sigh at that knowledge, muttering “Of course they do.”

“I don’t mind it.” Aurelia blushed a bit at that acknowledgement. She knew Leon would never repeat her secret admissions to anyone and it always felt so good to get it off her chest. “It’s not harassment or anything like that to me. They genuinely don’t realize their faux pa until afterwards. I think I’ve received more honest apologies in the last few weeks than I ever been a recipient of in my whole life.” She bit her lip as she blushed a bit more. “Besides, I have always admired well developed muscles. A little striptease from any them will never be horrible.” They were all harmless in their cajoling. The most they did was flex for her much to her initial relief and now enjoyment.

“Well, at least there’s that. They’d be happy to know they’ve managed to service you somehow.” Confident that Aurelia was not being harassed by any of the men, Leon continued on. “Now, there are two ways this will go. Law will either allow me to check him or he will put up a fight. Peia is done for the night so she won’t be in there to help me, but Orpheus should be in there to help. However, if you want to help, as soon as I or Orpheus manage to strip him of his shoes, pants, and socks, I want you to start massaging his feet.”

“His feet?” She blinked at him owlishly. That was the last thing she expected him to say.

“Law has this thing about his feet. Practically goes limp almost immediately when the right amount of pressure to the bottom of his foot is applied.” Leon explained. “Now all you need to do is use your thumbs and press them hard and rub circles up and down one of his feet. That should give me the time to make sure he’s alright and see what this limp might be about. Law isn’t flat footed, so if he doesn’t have an arch, let me know or if one of his ankles is swollen, avoid that foot and rub the other one. Do you think you can do that comfortably?”

She looked rather hesitant. “I won’t hurt him, right?”

“No. He might make some noise, but I promise you, it’s a good thing. He’s such a big ball of stress and nerves that the moment anyone starts to attempt relax him via a massage, specifically a foot massage, his body pretty much shuts down as a result. I try to rub his feet when I can, but with the growing number of crew members to feed and with only Basil to help- I haven’t had the time.”

Aurelia quietly absorbed this information as she stared up at Leon. “Okay.”

Now having a decent plan, Leon lead Aurelia to the infirmary, where, just as Leon had assumed, Law was hunched over a book with Orpheus next to him as he explained something that the medical assistant was trying to learn. Now that Leon was observing him, he could tell the man was in some pain. He was babying his left leg as discreetly as he could.

The sounds of the two entering piqued the heart captain’s interest and he looked slightly worried at the presence of Aurelia, quite unaware of why they were really there.

“Aurelia-ya, is something the matter?” He had just seen her at dinner and she seemed fine then. Orpheus also looked their direction.

“She’s fine, but you’re not, apparently. Been limping when no one’s been looking, or so I’ve been told.” Leon cut his concern short as he motioned for a bed. “Lay down or I force you down.”

Law tensed. His jaw setting stubbornly as he held his position. He wasn’t going to budge. “I’m fine. I have taken care of it.”

“Bullshit. You know the rules. You’re not allowed to treat your own damn injuries.” Leon countered, equally stubborn. “On. The. Bed.” Why was it like pulling teeth with him? He always pulled this shit when he had to be treated and not on his terms.

Law was readying a Room when Orpheus grabbed onto his arms and broke his concentration. He had forgotten that the young medic-in-training was a turncoat when Leon started barking ridiculous orders at him. He managed to break away without harming the younger man and was already readying his defense for Leon who was quickly approaching. What he didn’t expect was that the person coming at him was actually Aurelia and it threw him for a moment, knowing how meek and nervous she was in his presence, that she had been the one to charge him. Even more of a blindside was how strong her grip was.

She practically threw him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, shocking all three men in the room, before depositing him as kindly as she could onto the nearest examination table. Leon had recovered from his shock quickly enough to start pinning Law against the table the moment his back hit the padded surface and Orpheus was already working on his belt and fastenings as Aurelia was tugging off his boots. He managed to knee Orpheus at least once in the solar plexus and managed slam his knuckles between two of Leon’s ribs hard. His pants were stripped as were his socks. He had almost hit Aurelia, but she had managed to dodge the foot to the face with surprising ease.

Just as he was ready to really bite into Leon’s arm, an overwhelming sensation ran up his spine and practically overloaded his brain, causing him to go limp. He could feel small, strong digits on his right foot and couldn’t do more that toss an arm over his eyes as he moaned. Shit. Shit it felt so damn good.

“You are an ass.” Leon coughed as he slammed a fist into Law’s nearest shoulder. Law grunted, but not even the pain could sober him up enough to move. His body was completely limp from her ministrations. “I can’t believe you are such a bastard about this!”

“Sh-shut u-ah.” Aurelia had managed to his one of his more tender nerves and he shivered. “You told her- ah ah- a-about-”

“Of course I did.” Leon looked at his own arm. “You almost drew blood, you abusive asshole. It’s going to bruise.”

“Makeherstop.” There was a reason he only let Leon near his feet. They were pretty much the biggest sensitive spot he had. His one true Achilles’s Heel. It was typically one that he could calm down and enjoy when Leon did it, but those tiny fingers just sent a wrack of nearly ticklish pleasure up and down his spine and his overly stressed, abused body didn’t know how to properly function to such treatment. It would take him a while to properly adjust to how strong and talented Aurelia was at massaging- even if she was only repetitively going up and down his foot in circles in a completely untrained manner.

“After I take a look at your leg.” Leon had figured it was the left one, seeing as Law had been keeping wait off it the best he could.

“You might have to check me next.” Orpheus wheezed a bit as he tried to recover himself. He was fetching basic first aid items, rubbing his assaulted area with a grimace. Leon gave a short grunt that he had heard the younger man as he kept his focus on Law.

Sometimes being the responsible medical assistant sucked, Orpheus internally lamented. Especially when Law was the damn patient. Though the youngest male was pretty damn impressed by Aurelia’s initiative. He had not expected her to be able to toss someone Law’s weight and size over her small shoulder as if he was nothing more than a sack of laundry for her to transport. Maybe doing the laundry was more hard work than any of them realized.

Aurelia, on the other hand, was focusing all her attention on her captain’s foot. Not trying to be weird about it in any way, but, because this whole situation was excessively so, it was best to ignore everything but her task. Something she could do rather well. She had always had the ability to hyper-focus on her task. Single-mindedness had saved her countless times back when she had been with her family. It had helped keep her sanity. So as she ran through the monotonous motions of rubbing her thumbs in a circular motion up and down his foot with as much pressure that she felt would be comfortable, she noted how skinny his foot was. All of the other men in the submarine had much wider feet, even the ones with smaller foot sizes, but the captain had long, narrow feet and skinny ankles. Not to mention how cold his feet were in her warm hands. She had been warned by him that he had cold hands before her first check up (which he definitely did have, despite how he had visibly tried to warm them up to make the whole thing less uncomfortable), but she had never imagined his feet would be so cold too.

She was jolted from her ministrations and observations when Leon gently placed an open palm on the small of her back. “I think he has had enough. Thank you for helping.”

The blonde haired woman glanced up at Law’s face, completely able to ignore his state of undress (she washed his undergarments so she wasn’t really affected by it) and was surprised at how languid his normally rigid form was. He was also breathing a bit deeper and slower than he normally did. Dare she say this was the most relaxed she had ever seen him? She glanced back down at his feet and noticed his ankle on his other foot was now wrapped securely.

“He has a grade two gastrocnemius strain and has a light sprain. No doubt rolled his ankle when he strained his calf muscle during a training session. He will be off his leg for a week. Orpheus is finding him a crutch and some ice as we speak.” Leon informed her, as if reading her mind. “Thank you for spotting it.”

Law recovered enough to begin pulling himself up, readying to get up off the exam table despite his injury. Leon’s hands grabbed onto Law’s good foot and the other man hissed a curse as Leon’s deft fingers began to properly massage the tendons in his foot and the man when limp against the table again.

“Stay put you shit head. You’re off your foot until it’s better. Don’t fight it or I will go dig up some seastone handcuffs and cuff you to the infirmary bed.”

Though his words were stern, Aurelia observed that Leon’s eyes were soft and she could tell that he cared deeply for Law despite all the trouble the other man gave him for simple things like this. Her attention quickly went back to his fingers, watching how a pro did it.

“Stop.” Law complained, but Leon ignored him. Digging his fingers in deeper and getting Law’s body to jolt a bit and electing a pleased moan from Law’s throat.

Leon chuckled. “Stop pretending you hate it.”

Seeing how relaxed Law was becoming the more Leon rubbed his foot made Aurelia yearn for something she had never expected to feel. Something she herself had been denied all her young life. Altruism. She wanted to care for others. She wanted to tend to her new family.

She had been brought up to be a perfect lady of society with no skills other than what was seen as desirable in a lady of the house. She couldn’t cook, she didn’t even know how to do laundry or how to properly clean before getting on this ship, or anything. Her only transferable skills she had used from her previous life thus far on this ship was embroidery, dressing and maintaining herself, her single-mindedness, and her observational skills. Everything else she was forced to learn as she went. She had been raised to believe her only redeemable feature was her ability to have children. Boys who’d become strong Marine men and, if any girls, raised them just as coldly and sternly as she was so that they could married off to horrible yet strong men to breed future Marines. It was a vicious cycle that her family wanted to force her into and one she had escaped thanks to so many wonderful souls, most of whom were a part of the Heart Pirates.

But, if she was to admit at least to herself, this wasn’t the first time this feeling washed over her. The young blonde had the urge to nurture and care for all of the members on this ship, especially her captain. He worked so hard for all of them and, if she could find things to make his life just a little easier, she wanted to. She already knew she didn’t have a head for medicine and the submarine already had people for that- Captain Law, Orpheus, Cassiopeia, and Leon. They didn’t need more people in that regard, but instead she wanted to pick up where she viewed there was visible slack.

“Mister Grimmhart…” Aurelia whispered as she tugged at the hem of her sleeves. He cast her a look, hands still working their magic on Law.

“Leon, please, Miss Aurelia.” He corrected her.

“Then simply Aurelia will do for me, Mist- errr- Leon.” She wasn’t going to indulge him if he was not going to live by the same standards.

“Very well, Aurelia.” Her name came more easily off his tongue than his on hers. “What is it?”

Orpheus was finally coming back into the room and she feared that if she didn’t ask now, all her courage would dissipate. “Could you teach me how to properly apply a massage? I- I mean, a foot massage- or, even, you know, how to massage in general because you are often to busy and I have down time once my training sessions are over and I’ve changed the laundry loads. So if anyone might need it, I could, um, help…” The last word were so small, but it seemed to echo so loudly in the room.

Leon stopped rubbing Law’s foot and Orpheus stared too at the fidgeting mess of a young woman who had summoned all of her courage to ask something that was so bold for her. Even Law was peering at her from under his arm, just as much shocked at how this young lady he had allowed on his ship merely as a favor to a deadman kept surprising them all. Rhoam had said her kindness was as deep and as vast as the ocean, but, to be honest, he had doubted the love-struck thief’s words, seeing as she was born a high ranking noble. Well, color him surprised, the thief hadn’t been exaggerating.

Law was the first to break the strange spell they all seemed to be on as he sat up and swung his feet off the table until he was sitting upright, ignoring Leon’s angry words of ‘keep your damn foot elevated’. He had tolerated Leon’s mothering and manhandling enough for one evening. Besides the man wouldn’t be complaining much longer. He turned to his medical assistant, trying not to be a grump, but, as always, failing.

“Orpheus-ya, go get the damn masseuse table from the back and help Leon set it up.” Law ordered. Orpheus nodded and quickly went the fetch the underused object as Law grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and tugged it off. Aurelia had to admit, their captain had some very fine muscles accessorizing his skinny form.

“What are you doing?” Leon was genuinely unsure. Law hadn’t stripped in front of a woman since he was cruelly antagonizing their first female mechanic.

“You were going to tell her yes, ja?” Law raised an eyebrow. While Leon’s favorite word usually seemed to be ‘no’, but not in cases like this. There was no doubt in Law’s mind about that.

Aurelia peeked up at the chef shyly. She was so worried that he might still say no.

“Of course I was.” Leon said without the slightest hesitate. “But why are you stripping even further?”

Law wouldn’t look at either of them. “I have a few knots I need you to work out, ja. Might as well start her first lesson now and work them out while teaching her. She has some damn strong fingers, by the way.”

Orpheus had found the masseuse table and was setting it up as Law hopped off the exam table and made sure to keep off his injured leg- again, done being bitched at. Leon was slightly vexed, but other than his grumbled of ‘fight him tooth and nail over something so easy and then he roll over so easily for something more complex’ as he started going through a few cabinets for the items he’d need.

Aurelia was on cloud nine as she beamed at all of them. Law actively avoided looking at her, Leon was too busy finding the needed items to teach her the trade to witness her expression, but Orpheus would forever remember that smile on her face. The first big smile of many as she continued to grow and learn.

“Okay,” Leon was depositing items as Law managed to lay on his belly. He laid there resting as loosely as he could with the knowledge that he was about to be touched more intimately than normal, only flinching when Orpheus callously deposited the ice bag on his marginally swollen calf. “So this is how we start- you are okay with learning now, right?”

“Yes!” Aurelia took a step closer, eager to learn.

She wanted to learn; she wanted to be of use; and, for once in her life, she was happily given the opportunity to change herself positively. She wasn’t going to stop here. She vowed it to herself. No, this was only the start.